


Every Man Here Has A Price [&]

by mostdaysunscathed



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic Violence, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals (mentioned), Protective Sakusa Kiyoomi, Recovery, Sad Miya Atsumu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostdaysunscathed/pseuds/mostdaysunscathed
Summary: There’s a man who lives next door.Well, two of them, really.Formerly titled “&”.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 54
Kudos: 426





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a man who lives next door.

Well, two of them, really.

There’s a man that Sakusa has seen step out of the apartment at all hours of the night, expression surly and sneer ever apparent, breath permanently seared with cheap beer. 

And then... there’s the other one.

Sakusa’s secret.

The man that shares a wall with his bedroom.

The man that cries himself to sleep at night.

The man that Sakusa has never seen before.

—

Ohta Takaaki.

Ohta is the name of the man—one of them, at least. Sakusa diligently dug through the hundreds of mailboxes for their apartment complex to make sure of it.

Sakusa decides he doesn’t like him. The way the name slips off the tongue, the way his knuckles are always bruised, the way he screams and shouts at the other man in his apartment.

The next time Ohta and Sakusa cross paths, Sakusa’s eyes linger. His hair is ill-kempt, a 5 o’clock shadow making itself known across a strong chin. His jacket is slung over his shoulder, a pack of cigarettes peeking out of the breast pocket, and there are sweat stains on his wife beater.

Unceremoniously, Ohta wipes his feet on the door mat, sending up dust and dislodging pieces of debris from his work boots. Leaving the mat crooked, he violently jams his keys into the lock and kicks his door open. Just before he enters his apartment, his head swivels around and he makes eye contact with Sakusa.

Sakusa does his best not to startle, thankful his mask is concealing his reaction.

Mouth slightly ajar and expression indifferent, Ohta sends him a nod.

Sakusa raises a singular brow and does the same, turning to his own door with his groceries in hand. While he wipes his feet on the doormat, he watches from the corner of the eye as Ohta stomps through the entrance.

Sakusa follows suit and slips into his apartment, but not before he hears a voice, sweet and low, saying, “Welcome home!”

Sakusa’s breath hitches.

That’s the first time he’s heard the other man’s voice. There’s an accent there, one he can’t place. It’s amusing. Charming, even.

His neighbor’s door slams shut before he has a chance to hear Ohta’s response.

—

The other apartment adjacent to Ohta’s is empty. Has been, for a while. There was a sweet elderly couple there for years, but they moved out to take care of their grandchildren. The apartment below Ohta’s is empty too, an abandoned Airbnb owned by a man overseas in China.

It does not occur to him until months and months later—when he hears muffled obscenities and the thud of a body hitting the floor with a harsh cry—that he is the only one who has an inkling of what happens in that flat when the sun goes down.

Sakusa shoots up to his feet, heart thudding in his chest as he stares at the wall connecting their apartments.

He chastises himself.  _ What can I, of all people, even do about it? _ he thinks. Still, his heart aches when muffled sobs make their way to his ears. Rocking his weight back and forth, Sakusa steps forward and presses his palm to the wall, letting his eyes flutter shut. Letting his conscience cry for the other man. 

The sounds do not subside. The yelling continues.

Resigned to his fate, Sakusa crawls back into bed. There’s a moment of blissful silence, but it doesn’t last long. He grimaces when he begins to hear his neighbor’s bed springs creak and moan, suggestive of something more sinful.

The sobbing resumes.

Sakusa grits his teeth and covers his head with his pillow. He doesn’t get much sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa, against his better interests, presses on. “I’m assuming you live in this apartment.”
> 
> “...Yeah,” the man says softly.
> 
> “Well, as your next door neighbor, I don’t think we’ve met.”

When Sakusa hears an odd shuffling outside his apartment, he’s quick to dogear his novel and tiptoe to the front door.

Sakusa’s on high alert because his neighbors have been… quiet, as of late. There’s been an uncharacteristic lack of crying, and isn’t it pathetic that he’s _used_ to it? Not for the first time, Sakusa feels his guilt grab him by the throat, but he doesn’t dwell on it. No point in doing so.

Squinting at his peephole, Sakusa looks into the hallway. The fisheye lens is dizzying, but he can tell there’s a figure trying to enter Ohta’s apartment. A figure that, from what he can tell, is most definitely _not_ Ohta.

Sakusa’s heart rate skyrockets and with it his adrenaline and before he can stop himself, he bursts into the hallway, startling the man across from him so badly he drops an obscene amount of groceries.

Sakusa takes a moment to observe him. Platinum blonde hair, dark brows, wide eyes darting back and forth anxiously. His clothing is wrinkled and his fingernails look like they’ve been chewed down to stubs, and yet, he’s still handsome. He’s _fit_ too. Wide shoulders fill out his shirt without issue, calves sturdier than possible, and a height that nearly matches Sakusa’s.

“Wh-whaddya want?” the stranger asks, voice wavering. An odd juxtaposition to his physical appearance.

Sakusa blinks. _There’s that twang. It’s definitely him._ He must have been staring like an idiot, and, well. He didn’t really have an excuse to come out in the hall. “Ah,” he starts, gathering his bearings. “I was just wondering about the noise.”

The man pales and clutches his keys—where they’ve been placed _between his fingers_ —impossibly tighter. “Sorry, was I bein’ loud?” he asks, apologetic.

“No,” Sakusa says quietly. “It’s the opposite really. It’s just that I usually hear a lot of noise next door and it’s been… quiet,” he trails off. Oh, God, he hopes he doesn’t sound too invested. He’s always been very poor at de-escalation. “I. Promise I’m not eavesdropping, the insulation in this building is just very poor. I was starting to worry.”

The man relaxes the grip on his keys minutely but doesn’t say anything. He seems more confused than anything.

Sakusa, against his better interests, presses on. “I’m assuming you live in this apartment.”

“...Yeah,” the man says softly.

“Well, as your next door neighbor, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I mean, yer not wrong...” the man says, still apprehensive but less high-strung than he had been even a moment ago.

Picking up on his snarkiness, Sakusa lets a corner of his mouth twitch upwards. “It’s a bit odd isn’t it? I’m assuming you moved in a while ago.”

The blonde man snorts. “I… I don’t get out much these days,” he mutters. There’s a self-deprecating humor there Sakusa can’t quite understand. “But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

Sakusa mulls over his options. There’s one that makes his skin crawl, but would probably be considered the most conventionally friendly. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.” He sticks out his arm for a handshake. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, voice strained.

The man looks as if he's holding in a laugh and gestures for him to put his hand away. “Listen, I’d shake yer hand but it looks like you’d rather do literally anythin’ else.”

Sakusa is both disappointed and relieved, but he does as he says. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he notices the man has finally relaxed his grip on his keys. “Ah. So you picked up on that.” He pulls out a travel-sized sanitizer bottle and squeezes some into his hands. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a germaphobe.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “But you offered t’ shake my hand?”

Sakusa shrugs. “I wanted to make the effort, at least.”

There’a a stunned pause before he laughs, unrestrained this time, leaning his shoulder against his door and tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. His laugh is warm, a little bit musical, and sweet.

It makes Sakusa want to laugh with him.

Settling in for conversation, the blonde is considerably more relaxed now, movements less twitchy and words less forced. “Miya Atsumu,” he finally introduces himself, tilting his head to the side with twinkling eyes.

“Again, Miya-san. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Please,” he says, flashing a charming smile. “Call me Atsumu.”

“‘Atsumu’?” Sakusa repeats. “That’s a little familiar.”

“Well aren’t you polite?” he teases. “Mr.Manners over here, I bet this is why yer the perfect next-door neighbor.”

“I don’t exactly have any testimonials but Adachi-sama and Adachi-sama adored my company,” Sakusa replies dryly. Distantly, he remembers the old couple down the hall.

“Those old geezers? Really?” Miya gapes at him. “They didn’t even want to look me in the eye! Not that I saw ‘em often before they moved out, but the few times I did…” He sighs in contemplation. “I really think it was the blonde hair.”

Surprise flits across Sakusa’s face before he smooths out his features. _So he_ **_did_ ** _live there from the beginning. They didn’t make that much noise before, though. I wonder what changed. The puzzle gets stranger._ “I wouldn’t be surprised. As sweet as they are, they’re still traditionalists. Why else would they wear yukata as everyday clothing?”

“...Aesthetics?”

“Aesthetics. Sure.” The skepticism is dripping from his voice.

Miya pouts. “I dunno if you pay attention t’ this sorta stuff but it _is_ comin’ back in fashion.”

“No,” Sakusa shakes his head. “I don’t. But maybe I should?”

“You don’t?” He frowns. “But you’re so—“ He gestures at Sakusa’s ensemble desperately. “—put together!”

Sakusa glances down at himself, not even sure what he threw on this morning. A rust-colored cable-knit over a white button up, sensible green slacks, and slip-on chelsea boots. A simple gold necklace, Komori’s graduation present, hangs loosely around his neck. Nothing special as far as he’s concerned, although that’s his upbringing speaking. “I’m really not,” he answers lamely. “This isn’t much.”

Miya’s eyes flit down to his own crumpled clothing before training them on the floor, embarrassed.

A little too late, Sakusa feels a pang of guilt. “That’s not to say you look bad,” Sakusa’s quick to amend. “It’s just the way I was raised. I think you look nice.”

Miya coughs and looks off to the side. The tips of his ears are pink. “I need t’ put my groceries away,” he mutters, slowly gathering his piles of groceries. “I’ll see ya around?”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Sakusa kneels down and starts picking the bags up as well, gathering them into his arms. “I don’t mind.”

There’s a pause before Miya mumbles, “That’s… that’s kind of ya. I’d appreciate that.”

There’s hesitation there. “You don’t have to let me in, I know we just met.“

“No!” Miya bites his tongue. “No,” he says, a bit quieter. “It’s nice t’ have someone t’ talk to.”

_What?_ Sakusa nods, bemused. Miya unlocks his door, and Sakusa follows him in.

The apartment’s modest, maybe a bit plain. There's an oddly placed picture frame here and there, a little too low or a little too high on the walls. They’re mostly childhood photos of Miya and Ohta. Miya’s photos have an identical-looking boy in them. _A twin._

Miya, for some inexplicable reason, looks nervous. He treads lightly, looks over his shoulder, and keeps his head down.

Wordlessly, Sakusa helps carry the groceries into the dining room, pulling things out of the bags one by one. Daikon, eggs, chicken cutlets, tonkatsu sauce, etc. While Miya puts them in the fridge, he thoroughly washes his hands.

There’s an awkward, extended silence when the groceries have been put away.

Sakusa’s eyes wander over to another picture frame on a corner table. It’s a photo of a grinning Miya, Ohta pressing a kiss to the side of his head, confirming his suspicions. Despite the fact that Miya couldn’t be much older than Sakusa, they’re both noticeably younger here. _High school sweethearts maybe…?_

Sakusa studies Miya, who seems tired, a lot less vibrant than his photo. If he looks closer, he can see bags under his eyes, melancholy written into every line of his body.

Sakusa thinks of Ohta too. Exhausted, overworked, _angry._ Angry at the world, angry at his job, angry at the one person who doesn’t deserve it.

Miya.

_Atsumu._

“Would you like to come over for some tea?” Sakusa asks, maybe a hint more desperate than he would like. Now that he’s seen _the other man,_ he doesn’t want to let him out of his sight. And something tells him that Atsumu doesn’t really want to be here.

Atsumu chews on his lip, contemplating his answer.

And then his eyes meet Sakusa’s, moonstone and gold brimming with something a little hopeful. Atsumu is bashful when he tells him, “I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, we’re in it now..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hold th’ phone!” Atsumu nearly shouts, standing and making a ‘time-out’ sign with his hands. “Yer a volleyball player? And a pro at that!” His eyes glitter with enthusiasm. “That’s so damn cool!”

When they step into his apartment, Moka is quick at Sakusa’s heels, nipping and pawing at him with a pitiful meow. “Yes, yes, I know you need attention,” Sakusa grumbles, ignoring her tiny cries as he hangs his coat.

“Sorry fer th’ intrusion,” Atsumu ducks his head and steps into the genkan, carefully toeing off his shoes. Sakusa is quick to take his jacket and offer him a fresh pair of room slippers (stolen from a hotel).

Moka, surprisingly enough, pads over to Atsumu and weaves in and out between his legs. Her tail brushes against his calves, wrapping around them as she nuzzles against his pants. She leaves patches of dark grey hair on the fabric, but Atsumu doesn’t seem to mind.

“You have a _cat?”_ Atsumu's eyes go comically wide, a childlike excitement surrounding him. He looks up at Sakusa, asking a silent question.

Sakusa lifts a single brow. “Go ahead.”

In one motion, Atsumu scoops Moka up into his arms, cooing and making _pspsps_ noises while he strokes her chin. Moka doesn’t react beyond a playful swipe or two of her paws, causing Atsumu to giggle. 

Sakusa swallows. Moka was originally a shelter cat that his therapist encouraged him to foster. It took him a while to agree, cringing at the idea of litter boxes and shedding, but he was eventually convinced. It was supposed to be a milder form of exposure therapy and a temporary situation, but, well. One thing led to another and Sakusa grew to adore the endearing little bastard. He caved and adopted her.

After adjusting to Sakusa and his apartment, Moka was typically well-behaved. He can’t say the same when he’s had company—she despises strangers, and he couldn’t blame her. If the scratches over her left eye said anything, it’s that she had a rough time with her last ‘owners’. She usually flinches away or hisses when newcomers try to approach her.

...Yet Moka honest-to-god _purrs_ when Atsumu starts to gently scratch behind her ears, humming in amusement.

_Birds of a feather._

Sakusa turns and walks to the kitchen, thoughts swirling. The light footsteps behind him indicate Atsumu is not far behind, only stopping when a graceful _thump_ noise comes from the floor.

“Awww,” Atsumu pouts. “She was so soft ‘n cuddly.”

Sakusa chuckles as he opens his cabinets. “Not to most people.”

“Huh?”

He feigns nonchalance. “Moka usually hates strangers. It’s a miracle she didn’t claw you up as soon as she got the chance.”

Atsumu grabs his shirt near his heart, dramatic and over-played. “I’m so betrayed. She could’ve scratched me up and ya woulda _let_ her?”

“I wouldn’t let her hurt you.” Sakusa digs through his shelves for his tea ball. “I could tell she liked you right away.”

Atsumu stays quiet. Sakusa can see him ogling him from the corner of his eye, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

“What type of tea would you like?”

“Why don’tcha surprise me?”

“Well, that’s just asking to get disappointed,” Sakusa says, flat. “What if you end up hating it.”

“Eh, I’d drink it anyways. Hate to see stuff go t’ waste.” Atsumu shrugs. “I mean it. Surprise me.”

“Well, you asked for it…” he mutters. He decides on a fragrant jasmine tea and then an oolong for himself. He places the tea balls in his nicest cups and puts them underneath his hot water dispenser. While he waits for the tea to steep, he ushers Atsumu to his dining table.

—

Inevitably, small talk is made. It evolves to full-blown conversation naturally enough, and Sakusa can’t help it. He finds himself reluctantly charmed.

Miya Atsumu.

Amagasaki native, brunette turned faux-blonde, and identical twin. And to Sakusa’s luck, a jasmine tea enthusiast.

This is the point where Sakusa gives himself permission to call him Atsumu. Where he can justify it.

When Sakusa hesitantly shares information about himself in return, Atsumu is eager to listen, all ears. It’s strange, having people listen to him without brushing him off. Atsumu might be one of the first people to do so since high school. So, he reciprocates.

Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Recent college graduate, Tokyo transplant, and soon-to-be (hopefully) professional volleyball player.

“Hold th’ phone!” Atsumu nearly shouts, standing and making a ‘time-out’ sign with his hands. “Yer a volleyball player? And a _pro_ at that!” His eyes glitter with enthusiasm. “That’s so damn _cool!”_

Sakusa winces at his volume, making an unimpressed expression. “Yes,” he replies simply.

The light in Atsumu’s eyes dies as he shrinks away. He sits back down. “Sorry, I got too excited,” he mumbles, gaze averted. “That was kinda annoyin’. I do that a lot, sorry, I just—I also did volleyball all the way ‘til high school, and findin’ out you’re a pro is so—“ He swallows harshly, cutting himself off. “Oh, I’m doing it again.”

Something angry settles in Sakusa’s spine. Who made him react so viscerally to a simple glare? His words are so _soft,_ and for what? “Hey, you’re allowed to get excited about things,” he reassures him, guilt sneaking its way into his words. “I just get overwhelmed by noise easily.”

Atsumu’s head whips up and he waves his hands, frantic. “‘M so sorry S—“

“Don’t,” Sakusa says sharply, but not unkindly. “You couldn’t have known, it’s okay.”

Atsumu looks like he could collapse from relief. “Oh. Okay.”

Sakusa sighs internally, hiding a smile behind his cup. When Atsumu stays silent, he gives him a verbal nudge. “So, what position did you play?”

Atsumu’s sunny disposition returns at once.

—

At some point during Atsumu’s animated storytelling, Sakusa catches the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.

They talk about anything. Everything.

Three cups of jasmine and three cups of oolong later, they’re still deep in conversation.

They continue talking long after the sun sets.

—

“Thank you for the tea!” Atsumu tugs his coat back on, kneeling down to give Moka one last pet before he returns to his apartment. “And of course, fer the company. Was gettin’ lonely cooped up in that apartment, I haven’t talked to anyone in so long.”

Sakusa frowns. “Isn’t Oh—your partner living with you?”

Atsumu is thankfully distracted by Moka’s purrs, missing his slip-up. “Yeah, but he’s travelin’ to take care of some family up North. Doesn’t know when he’ll be back.” 

“Don’t you have family here as well? Home isn’t too far for you.” 

Atsumu looks away. “It’s...complicated.”

Sakusa pushes. “Coworkers? Friends?”

“...Taka doesn’t want me to get a job. Says he can handle everythin’.”

Sirens go off in Sakusa’s head and the alarm must show.

Atsumu stands abruptly. startling Moka. “I should go,” he whispers.

“...It’s getting late,” Sakusa reluctantly agrees. “It was nice to have you.”

“Thank you for sayin’ hello, neighbor.” He gives a weak grin and a peace sign, stepping into the hallway. 

Sakusa opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then the door slams shut.

And with it comes the emptiness.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “...Shit,” he groans.

The void in Sakusa’s chest blooms, and his aching ribs cannot escape it this time.

—

  
 _So_ **_that’s_ ** _the other man._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakusa stands, poised, with his knuckles mere centimeters from the door.
> 
> _It’s been a few days… Is this weird? No, it shouldn’t be. Actually yeah, it’s definitely weird. I should leave._

Just as Hinata gets into position for a serve. Sakusa makes a  _ T  _ with his hands. “Quick time-out!” he yells.

Hinata pouts, but obediently drops the ball, that hunger in his eyes fading away. “Aw, man…” Bokuto’s aura also dissipates, going from a professional volleyball player to a loveable goofball. Immediately, he and Hinata strike up conversation.

“Sakishima-san!” Sakusa motions for the MSBY setter to come over. They’re on the same team, playing a 2v2 practice match in the local gym, graciously helping Sakusa hone his skills. While he’s never been great at making friends, he has to admit, he appreciates them. A lot.

Sakishima jogs over with a fake pout on his lips. “Ne, Sakusa! How many times do I have to tell you, just Sakishima is fine. Hell, Isumi would be better. How long have we known each other already?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes with the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “Fine.  _ Saki-chan, _ get over here.”

Sakishima pretends to collapse, falling to his hands and knees. “Sakusa, you wound me,” he cries.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Sakusa says, poker-faced.

Sakishima recovers, standing up with a little hop. With his hands on his hips, he asks, “So, what can I do for you?”

“Next time you set the ball to me, could you send it a little higher?”

Silence.

Sakishima’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and his mouth falls open. “Huh?”

Even from across the net, Bokuto and Hinata come to a standstill, craning their necks around to stare.

Sakusa scowls, feeling a little self-conscious. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Kiyoomi! Are you okay?” Hinata bounces over, ducking under the netting.

“Yeah, are you sure you aren’t sick or somethin’?” Bokuto follows suit.

Sakusa shudders. “Do I look like someone who would get  _ sick?” _

Sakishima and Bokuto side-eye each other. The two have a strange relationship, initially having friction because of some ‘Kuroo’ figure. Now they seem right as rain, if not strangely chummy.

Sakishima cocks his head to the side, eyes strangely intense. The resemblance to his namesake can be uncanny, and this is one of those times. He seems like a pit viper, about to strike. “Nah, completely honest. Is there something going on? You  _ never _ initiate this type of challenge.” He raises a brow mockingly. “You  _ know _ you’re going to get onto the team, right? You’re a shoo-in for the position. I mean, hell. You’re with the team right now!”

Sakusa cracks his knuckles. “Even if my position is as guaranteed as you claim it is, I shouldn’t be compliant. There’s always room to improve.”

_ “Damn,”  _ Hinata whispers. “You’re getting  _ me  _ fired up now!” He leaps up and sprints back to his side of the court, Bokuto whooping and hollering behind him.

“When are you  _ not  _ fired up?” Sakusa asks, exasperated. Still, he gets into position.

“You better not hold back!” Bokuto shouts. “I’m not going to take it easy on you!”

Sakusa sharply exhales. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about.”

The next time Sakishima sets the ball, just that much higher, the impact of his palm against the ball feels like  _ victory. _

—

“You coming, Sakusa? We’re going out to this new restaurant, you should join! The rest of the team will be with us, they’d love to meet you!”

“No, sorry… I’m staying in tonight. But thanks, Hinata.”

— 

Sakusa stands, poised, with his knuckles mere centimeters from the door.

_ It’s been a few days… Is this weird? No, it shouldn’t be. Actually yeah, it’s definitely weird. I should leave. _

Lowering his arm, Sakusa sighs.

_But you cooked too much food; you hate having leftovers. Besides, don’t you want to see Atsumu again?_ _He seems like he could use a friend. It doesn't seem as if Ohta has been the kindest…_

Sakusa remembers the muffled crying through his wall. He flinches. Before he can psych himself out any further, he raps his knuckles against the door, knocking three times.

Waiting feels like an eternity, but eventually the sound of very hesitant footsteps make their way over to the door. There’s a scratching sound as someone pushes the shutter aside for the doorhole. There’s another moment between when the shutter closes and when the other man appears.

“S-Sakusa?” Atsumu asks, wide-eyed. The security is still attached, the door just barely cracked open. “Is that you?”

Sakusa bites back a scathing remark of  _ Who else?, _ just barely remembering he’s still wearing his glasses and his mask. He unhooks the surgical mask from his ear and nods. “Hello, Miya-san.”

Atsumu looks left and right in the hallway, as if looking for—someone. “What are ya doin’ here?” He asks, nervous.

Sakusa holds up a white plastic bag. “The end-of-day sale at the fish market was too good to pass up; I ended up buying too much. Would you like to share dinner with me?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “... Are you sure?”

“All my other friends are busy tonight.” Sakusa almost feels guilty for throwing his friends under the bus, but not  _ that  _ guilty. Bonus points for managing to sneak in the implication that Atsumu is his friend.

Atsumu is still hesitant. “Where do you want to eat?”

“Well, I was assuming you’d want to say  _ hi _ to Moka.”

His eyes light up at the implication. “I-I can see yer cat again?”

“She misses you,” Sakusa replies. He’s laying it on thick, although he’s not exactly lying. He can always tell whenever Atsumu passes by his apartment because Moka claws at the door like a miniature demon. After a moment, he tacks on a soft, “Atsumu.”

He’s dangerously close to begging, but he’s not quite there.

Atsumu grins.

“I figured it was about time I used your name,” Sakusa shrugs. He lifts the bag again. “So, how about it?”

The door closes. Atsumu unlatches the chain and opens it again. “So, what type of fish did you buy? What’re you plannin’ to cook? Ooh, can I help?” He immediately begins chattering, star-bright and enthusiastic. He’s looking better today, wearing a cozy, oversized sweater and comfortable cotton pants. His socks, tucked into his slippers, have frogs and toads on them.

Meanwhile, Sakusa’s still in his workout gear. Not that he cares.   
  


Sakusa smiles, powerless to the way this man makes him feel. He’s relieved he seems to trust him more now. As they start the short journey to his apartment, he patiently answers his questions. “Well, they had a pretty good deal on fatty tuna. Still kind of a splurge, but it was worth it. I’m planning on making sashimi if you want to cook the sushi rice? I can show you how, I appreciate the offer to help.”

Atsumu stops in his tracks. Startled, Sakusa turns around to see if something is wrong. Atsumu’s eyes are shining. “Are you some sort of mind-reader?”

Baffled, Sakusa shakes his head.

“Fatty tuna is my favorite food. Ever.” He laughs, shell-shocked. “Always has been.”

Sakusa pulls out his keys and tries not to think about how Atsumu looks at him. Again, with those eyes. “Well, today’s your lucky day. But I’m expecting you to pull your weight in the kitchen,” he jokes, voice dry.

“You haven’t seen my cookin’ chops just yet.” Atsumu makes a karate-chopping motion and a high kick as he enters his genkan. “This’ll be the best damn sushi rice you’ve ever had!”

Sakusa laughs, warm and genuine, reaching down to pet a rather vocal Moka as he takes off his shoes. “I’m counting on it. Here, say hi to Moka. She was waiting for us.”

“Hi, Moka!” Atsumu kneels down and shamelessly makes kissy noises towards his cat, sticking out his tongue. Moka is  _ loving  _ it.

Sakusa leans against the wall and takes in the image of this man in his apartment. Something about it feels right. “Should we get started?”

“Show me to the kitchen!”

“You should probably put my cat down first.”

“Meanie.”

_ “Miya.” _

“I know, I know. Coming!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Sakishima Isumi: Nohebi's third-year setter.](https://haikyuu.fandom.com/wiki/Isumi_Sakishima) _


	5. Chapter 5

Steadily pulling the fish towards himself while he runs the knife in between the skin and the flesh, Sakusa explains the process to a very attentive Atsumu.

“Keep the knife as close to the skin as possible, so you don’t waste any fish and…”  _ Moment of truth. _ Sakusa pulls the skin out from underneath the fish and turns the flesh over… to reveal a perfectly skinned piece of tuna.

“Wow!” Atsumu  _ oohs  _ and  _ ahs _ at the job well done. He’s got more energy today, a different side of his personality shining through. It feels more genuine, like he’s letting his guard down.

Relief rushes through Sakusa’s veins. He chuckles at Atsumu’s dramatic reaction, not in the mood to analyze his own need to  _ impress. _ “It’s not that difficult—with some practice.”

Atsumu petulantly sticks his tongue out. “Don’t humble yourself. You know someone’s an expert if they make somethin’ look easy.”

“Well I wouldn’t call myself an  _ expert—“ _

“Sh!” Atsumu playfully puts a finger against Sakusa’s lips, silencing him immediately. “No.”

_ Ah. _

Sakusa almost goes cross-eyed as he slowly reaches up and grabs Atsumu by the wrist, pulling his hand away from his face.

Atsumu’s eyes go wide, and Sakusa can see his facial expressions change with the weight of what he’s done, each change screaming  _ panic. _ He starts to shake, almost frozen in place. He’s gone pale.

Sakusa moves forward slightly, gradually, as if trying not to scare away a bird. “Miya—”

Somehow, saying his name makes it that much worse. Atsumu visibly flinches, retreating several steps until his back hits the kitchen counter. He looks left and right as if looking for a place to escape before he shrinks in on himself, eyes glancing between Sakusa’s hands and his face. So fast Sakusa almost misses it, he also looks at the knife, still on the cutting board.

Sakusa hasn’t cried since he was in primary school, but he’s really tempted to, right about now. He hopes and prays that it’s just his mind, his imagination playing cruel tricks.

He starts to ramble, words strung together so fast it’s almost incoherent. “I-I’m so sorry, I totally forgot about your germ thing, and I swear my hands are clean right now but I can grab you a sanitizing wipe or hand sanitizer, I’m so sorry, I feel guilty and I can leave if you need me to, I was just joking around and  _ I’ll never do it aga—” _

“Atsumu.”

He shuts up, audibly swallowing, now grabbing the counter with an iron grip. 

Sakusa holds his hands up in surrender. “Listen to me.” Atsumu frantically nods, trying to maintain eye contact while simultaneously tracking his hands. “It’s _okay. I’m not upset.”_ His words are low. Deliberate. Off the court, Sakusa has never understood the point of raising his voice at other people. “Are you okay?”

Atsumu lets out a short, hysterical laugh, but he seems a little disarmed. Progress. “Am  _ I  _ okay? Are you kidding me? I’m the one who…” He wildly gestures his arms at Sakusa’s entire kitchen. Sakusa nods like that makes sense. “Again, I’m. Sorry,” he finishes lamely.

“Stop—please don’t apologize.”  _ He probably can’t help it.  _ Sakusa puts his arms down and meanders to open the cabinets behind Atsumu. He pretends not to notice the way the other man inches away from him, and tries not to feel hurt. “It’s true, I’m picky about what makes contact with my skin, but it’s not a big deal. I was startled, that’s all, and you didn’t do it intentionally.” He pulls out a glass and fills it with water, immediately offering it to Atsumu. “Drink.”

(He deliberately omits the part where he didn’t even  _ think  _ of germs when Atsumu touched him. When Atsumu touched his lips. All he could think about was the way Atsumu’s hands ran cold, in contrast to himself, whose hands always ran hot. How they balanced each other out.)

The cup is small enough that their fingers brush against each other with the exchange. Atsumu still looks nervous, but eagerly downs the cup of water, still glancing at Sakusa every once in a while with a not insignificant distance in between them.

Atsumu puts the cup down and, once again, they are bathed in an air of awkward silence.

Sakusa resolves himself to break it. “I wasn’t upset,” he states, meeting Atsumu’s eyes as he says so.

This time, it’s Atsumu who breaks, staring down at his patterned socks instead, wiggling his toes. It’s so, painfully endearing.

“I know it’s none of my business, and feel free to let me know if this is out of line.” Sakusa didn’t mean to say this, but while he’s being impulsive, he might as well go ahead. “As long as you are in my apartment, no one will hurt you or make you uncomfortable. You won’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to pretend you like me more than you have to, you don’t have to worry about being yelled at, and,” Sakusa inhales, running out of breath. “You don’t have to worry that someone might hit you.”

Atsumu winces.

“And I’ll do everything I can to keep that promise. Are you okay with that?”

Atsumu pulls his sweater sleeves over his hand, nervously fiddling with the fabric. “Yeah.” He sniffles, still refusing to look up. “Y-yeah, more than okay, Sakusa. Thanks.”

Sakusa sighs internally. Somehow, he knows if he sighs out loud, Atsumu will apologize. Again. Instead, he reaches out a hand (slowly, so the other man has plenty of time to move if he decides he doesn’t want it) and pats Atsumu’s head.

Atsumu almost jumps a foot in the air before he calms down, melting underneath the touch. 

“Jeez. You’re a real softie in disguise, aren’tcha?” 

Sakusa won’t deny this claim. Instead, he stops petting him. He’s pleasantly surprised when Atsumu makes a disappointed noise and gently headbutts his hand like a cat asking for affection. He entertains it, running his hands through his hair. “Are you still hungry?” Sakusa asks.

Atsumu’s stomach audibly growls. “Always,” Atsumu admits. “Next to nothin’ can destroy my appetite.”

“Are you still up for making sushi rice?”

**—**

Atsumu’s turned back to normal, for the most part. He’s still more subdued, and at the same time, he’s more bubbly. Not that Sakusa really knows what his  _ normal  _ is, they barely know each other. 

And yet.

“Behind you!” Atsumu is puttering around Sakusa’s kitchen comfortably, fresh sushi rice already plated in his hands. He puts it on the table next to a plate of fatty tuna, humming as he goes along. He happily claps his hands when he’s done, satisfied with the layout. They brought out Sakusa’s best dishware, and it looks fit for a high-class restaurant.

“You seem more than capable in a kitchen,” Sakusa notes, impressed with the speed that Atsumu has prepared the sushi rice.

Atsumu smiles. “I’ve worked in a lot of kitchens before. But the sushi rice, specifically—that’s somethin’ ‘Samu taught me to do.”

“‘Samu?” Sakusa repeats.

Instead of replying, Atsumu briefly stiffens, joints locked in place. “Ah. My twin.”

_ “Don’t you have family here as well? Home isn’t too far for you.”  _

_ “It’s...complicated.” _

“Oh.” Sakusa shifts his weight back and forth on his heels. “That’s nice.” He doesn’t press.

Atsumu seems relieved. “I’m ready t’ eat whenever you are.” They both pull out a chair and plop down, ready to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

“Oh—almost forgot.” Sakusa gets up from the dining table and goes to the kitchen, returning with soy sauce, and wasabi.

Atsumu grins, and Sakusa can physically feel his body relax, not quite mirroring his grin but smiling back nonetheless. Until he notices Atsumu staring.

“What are you looking at?” Sakusa asks, immediately frowning.

Atsumu looks away. “Ah. Just notice that ya have dimples.” His face is the slightest bit red. “They’re nice.”

Sakusa shakes his head in exasperation. This man will be the death of him. He smacks his hands together, and Atsumu follows suit.

“Itadakimasu!”

And then Moka materializes out of nowhere, leaping onto the table with a mission.

Embarrassingly enough, they  _ both  _ scream, scrambling to protect the tuna.

(They manage to get her off the table and into another room without taking any damages. They burst into laughter about it afterwards.)

— 

They’re cleaning the dishes, side by side.

“I don't like it when people call me Miya.”

“Yes?”

  
  
“Yeah. Other than just being used to it ‘cuz of Samu, I, uh. …He. H-he only… Ohta, I mean, I. I-I’m sorry.” Atsumu puts down the plate he was washing, gripping the edges of the sink with an empty look on his face.

Sakusa turns off the sink. “Please take your time.”

”Thanks fer bein’ patient, it’s just. Hard for me to t-talk about it.”

“Of course.”

There's quiet, the only sound being the _drip, drip, drip,_ as water spills out of the dishes in the sink.

“...Ohta only calls me  _ Miya _ when he’s upset with me.”

“Oh.”  _ Of course he does. _

“Yeah. You don’t have to call me Atsumu if you’re uncomfortable with that, but in case I—”

“Atsumu?”

“…Yeah?”

“It’s alright. I’m sorry.”  _ I’m sorry that he’s twisted your own name. _

“...Is it alright if I call you by your given name?”

_ How could I deny you?  _ “Of course. It’s—”

“Kiyoomi. Thank you, Kiyoomi.”

“You… remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

_ You ruin me. _

— 

“Thank you fer havin’ me over. The tuna was incredible!”

“Thank you for coming over. And for cooking. Without you I would’ve had a very lonely dinner.”

“Hey, you still have Moka.”

“That’s… true. But she probably would've tried to eat my dinner for me. Besides, she isn’t as good of a conversationalist.”

“Oh, Omi-omi, you flatter me.”

“Omi… omi?”

“Yeah, it’s my new nickname fer you! Do ya like it?”

“I—Yeah. I do.”

“And with that, I bid you adieu. Sleep tight!”

“Goodnight.”

Sakusa doesn’t close his door until Atsumu closes his own.

— 

_ I'm not one for violence, but... _

_ I don't want him laying another finger on you ever again. _


	6. Chapter 6

The first night Sakusa hears noises through the wall again, well.

He assumes the worst.

It’s been a while since their last encounter, and it puts Sakusa on edge. Shoving his blankets aside and creeping up to the wall as quietly as he can, his heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline bringing his body along for the ride. He stops in his tracks and waits.

The sounds are faint, but certainly there. Like a conversation that’s just about to escalate. A leaf, floating downstream and into a waterfall. A revelation on the cusp of being had.

And the dread forming within his chest physically weighs him down.

_Dammit,_ Sakusa curses. _I shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. And what business do I have being protective over this man?_

_Well he’s not just ‘any man’ now, is he. He’s your friend._

_Right. I’m just… helping a friend in need. Looking out for him. Nothing more, nothing less._ Even within the boundaries of his own head, Sakusa doesn’t sound very convinced. _In any case, aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see what’s going on? Go on, put your ear against the wall._

Sakusa sighs. _But his privacy._

_They lost the right to privacy the first night you heard screaming through the walls._

_It’s for his own safety._

His logic is flawed, but still. It doesn’t take much to justify his actions around Atsumu.

Sakusa steps forward, avoiding the board on the floor he knows for _certain_ creaks stupidly loud, and lays his ear against a patch of the wall. 

_Il est entré dans mon cœur,_

_Une part de bonheur,_

_Dont je connais la cause._

Is that… French? Sakusa readjusts his stance and presses a little closer.

Listening carefully, he’s able to hear two layers of sound. There’s the French sung by a woman, playing on what sounds like an old-timey record, melodious and filled with emotion. Then there’s the French sung by a man, thick with a Japanese accent and just the tiniest bit off-key, gently singing along.

_C'est toi pour moi, moi pour toi dans la vie,_

_Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie._

Sakusa grins. _Music. He’s listening to music._ He can hear footsteps too, moving across the floor to the beat. It’s fun to imagine him, waltzing across the room on his own, singing to himself. 

He can almost see himself there.

Would he be laughing at Atsumu for having two left feet, or perhaps admiring his grace? Or maybe he’s having too much fun on his own, so Sakusa would just have to join.

_Et dès que je t'aperçois,_

_Alors je sens dans moi,_

_Mon cœur qui bat..._

_He won’t be on his own for much longer._

Sakusa feels light-headed at the realization.

And it’s stupid, to just realize this now, but Atsumu’s boyfriend will eventually return—his boyfriend? _His spouse?_

_Are they married?_

The thought, it sickens him. That Atsumu might be, in the eyes of the law, bound to the man that isolated him from his family, hurt him to the point he no longer felt safe in his home, weaponized his name to his advantage.

To Sakusa, it seemed a cut-and-dry case, even from the barest fragments he put together of Atsumu’s life.

Ohta was abusing Atsumu.

Ohta will _keep_ abusing Atsumu when he comes back.

… The music’s stopped.

Atsumu is no longer singing.

Sakusa slinks back to his bed, staying completely still before tossing and turning for another hour.

There’s much to think about, and he feels stuck in an echo chamber of his thoughts.

—

In the morning, Sakusa’s room is flooded with sunlight and heat, having forgotten to shut the curtains the night before.

It’s the kindest rude awakening he’s ever received.

He grunts and yawns as he stretches limbs that _snap crackle pop_ in every which direction. He had promised himself the night before to go to the volleyball court today, regardless of how frustrating it would be to practice without a team, and now he shall follow through. No matter how much he wants to stay in bed.

Groggily making his way over to his kitchen, he decides to make a cup of coffee. While he rifles through his cabinets and sets up his pour over, Sakusa spots his gym bag in the corner of his living room. A volleyball peeks out, along with some tape and a university team jersey.

An idea forms.

“Perhaps… it’s time for a second opinion?” Sakusa muses.

His coffee slowly drips into his mug. While he’s waiting, he hums, blissfully unaware that it’s the same tune he heard last night.

— 

If Sakusa waits any longer he’ll lose his nerve. He sips on a cup of chamomile tea—comforting, hopefully calming his beating heart—and takes a deep breath in to talk.

“I think an acquaintance—friend, a friend of mine,” Sakusa amends softly, hesitant, his voice barely rising above the ambient noise of the café. “He’s in an abusive relationship, and I’m not sure what to do. Or if I can do anything at all.”

Bokuto freezes in the middle of shoveling a slice of chocolate cake into his mouth, eyes cartoonishly wide. He tries his best not to choke as he swallows, making guttural noises as he pounds a fist against his chest.

(Chocolate cake doesn’t seem in line with the caloric intake for a professional athlete, but after helping Sakusa with his serves, Bokuto said he deserved it, as a treat. Sakusa idly wondered how his dietician would feel, but let it slide. He wishes he hadn’t, right about now.)

Sakusa cringes back, eyes widening. That was truly poor timing. Oh God, he shouldn’t have said anything, he’s going to be the cause of Bokuto’s death; he can’t be seen in public ever again. “Bokuto-san, I apologize—”

Completely true to character, Bokuto starts rambling before Sakusa can take back his words. “No no no, it’s good, it’s good, I’m glad you’re opening up to me! Well no, it’s absolutely awful about your friend who doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. You just caught me with my mouth full!” Of course, this is accompanied by wild hand gesturing. “I just— don’t get me wrong, I’m 100% here for you, but why me? Why not Sakishima, or even Hinata?”

Sakusa’s next words are spoken in a slow, thoughtful cadence. “You’re the oldest. And I know that doesn’t always equate to maturity, but I think, contrary to what people might tell you, your perspective is a valuable thing to have. You’ve changed a lot since high school.” He hesitates before bowing his head forward slightly. His pride stings, just a bit, but it’s nothing compared to his desire to protect. “I would really appreciate your input, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto immediately runs a hand up through dark curls, ruffling Sakusa’s hair affectionately. “I—wow, Kiyoomi. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He sounds choked up, and Sakusa raises a brow when he hears a quiet sniffle. He looks up.

“Bokuto, are you crying?”

“No! I’m just a little emotional, leave me alone.” Bokuto lets go of his hair and buries his face in his hands.

Sakusa is bewildered, to say the least. “Why?”

“It’s just—I’m so happy you look up to me. And trust me with this stuff.”

“I would think that it would be obvious…? Listen, if you can’t talk right now that’s fine, but I’d really—” 

Bokuto visibly pulls himself together, cutting Sakusa off mid-sentence. “Hey, I was already planning to agree, no need to ask again!” he reassures, giving him a comforting smile. “But can you start from the beginning?”

Instead of trying to explain it verbally, Sakusa nods, digging through his bag to pass over one of his most prized possessions: his journal. Bokuto has the audacity to look touched after Sakusa trusts him with something more personal, as if he hadn’t just cried. He reminds him of what they’re doing by pointing to a specific entry, dating to several months ago now.

—

When Bokuto is done flipping through all of the relevant entries, he places the journal down, visibly shaken. “Oh, Kiyoomi…”

_“Tch.”_ Sakusa averts his gaze, readjusting his mask, fiddling with the wire at the bridge of his nose. “I know it’s bad, I just don’t know where to go next.”

“I don’t know what advice I can offer you.” Bokuto crosses his arms and leans back, the picture of grim determination. “I’ve seen situations like this firsthand, but the solutions were drastically different.”

Sakusa frowns. “What do you mean?”

Bokuto bites his lip, hesitant. He seems to be at war with himself, whether or not it’s his story to tell, but eventually, the truth comes tumbling out. “My friend…” He looks away. “He was underage. I don’t know how it happened, but he got involved with an older woman.” A dark expression crosses his face as he remembers the situation. “It was violent, among other things.”

Sakusa flinches.

“We were too confident, overprotective, and naïve. So as soon as we realized what was happening, we leapt into action. We got physical evidence and threatened to call the police; he begged her to stay, she took one look at the situation and high-tailed it out of there.” He grimaces. “And that was the best case scenario. He hadn’t been isolated from us, he had his parents’ support, the law was on our side... and she never came back.”

“And he still tried to defend her?”

“There are days where he still does. It happened 3 or 4 years ago, but the wounds still seem fresh. Emotional manipulation… is powerful.” Bokuto gives a deep sigh. “I won’t lie, this will be much harder to deal with. Miya is a legal adult who can make his own decisions, he doesn’t have a support system to vouch for him, and he seems to be deep in denial. The only way this could stop is if you convinced him to stand up for himself, and even then, Ohta might not receive any legal consequences.” Bokuto gives Sakusa a careful look. “And you know how the courts are when it comes to… people like us.”

_People like us._

Sakusa curls his lip in distaste. “I do know.”

_Men who love men. People who love people._

“In an ideal world, Miya-san would leave on his own autonomy. But realistically speaking, if I had one piece of advice, it would be to get evidence. Real, physical evidence. Bloodied clothing, weapons… Or even just documenting his injuries, recording the screaming. But…that could be a breach of trust. More often than not, getting police involved promises more trouble.”

“Evidence,” Sakusa murmurs.

“Wait, no! I changed my mind!” Bokuto flails his arms about. “Well, evidence is still important, but I’d say getting to know him better would be even more important! Be a friend, be someone he can rely on, someone he can look to for comfort without feeling judged, no matter how much you want to get him out.”

“Believe me, I’m trying,” Sakusa grumbles. When he doesn’t hear a response for an awkwardly long time, he looks up to see Bokuto staring. Again. “What?”

“I’ve never seen you go out of your way for someone like this before. You must really care about him.” Bokuto’s eyes have a knowing gleam to them that Sakusa does not like whatsoever.

Sakusa will deny it until the day he dies, but underneath that mask, he pouts. “It’s not like that. I just want Atsumu to be okay.” Too late, he realizes that his given name has fallen off his tongue. “Wait—”

_“‘Atsumu?’_ We’ve been trying to get you to call us our first names for _years,_ and ‘Atsumu’ just _waltzes_ into your _—Mmph!”_ Bokuto goes cross-eyed, eyeing the spoonful of leftover chocolate cake Sakusa just jammed into his mouth.

The tips of Sakusa’s ears feel hot.

Bokuto pulls off the spoon with a _smack_ noise, thoughtfully chewing on the cake.

“Not now. Let’s not… talk about this now.” Sakusa can’t let those pesky _emotions_ get in the way of his original goal. Atsumu isn’t some kind of object for people to pass around, he’s a person. A person who deserves to be treated better.

Bokuto curiously tilts his head to the side like an inquisitive owl. It’s unnerving if Sakusa is being honest. 

Sakusa stands. It’s an abrupt motion, he needs to get out of here, _now._ He moves to leave, then quickly turns to look at Bokuto. “Thank you for the advice, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto swallows down the cake. Perhaps sensing his unease, Bokuto gives him his signature megawatt smile. “Any time, Kiyoomi!” His smile turns sheepish. “And sorry for being nosy.”

Sakusa turns and quickly weaves through the café, pushing the door open and fast-walking down the street. He doesn’t look back this time.

— 

Three knocks.

_Why am I here?_

Adrenaline, and bated breath.

_What possessed me to do this?_

The door cracks open.

_Did I really sprint back to the apartment just to hear his voice again?_

Brown eyes, dark with apprehension, peek into the hallway. His entire demeanor changes once he processes who’s before him. “Omi-omi?” 

_Yes, I did._ His words are honeyed, dripping with an accent Sakusa is quickly becoming familiar with. And with that nickname, too… 

He nods and pulls down his mask. This time, he doesn’t hesitate to use his given name. “Atsumu.”

There’s a gasp. “You remembered,” he whispers, and there is a sense of awe Sakusa does not deserve but appreciates nonetheless.

And even through the smallest opening of the door, Atsumu’s smile shines on his soul.

—

_I have so much love to give._

_I just didn’t realize it until I met you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from the ever-famous _La Vie en Rose_ by Edith Piaf. The English translation does not do it justice.
> 
>  _Il est entré dans mon cœur/Part de bonheur/Dont je connais la cause_  
>  He has entered my heart/A piece of happiness/The cause of which I know
> 
>  _C'est toi pour moi, moi pour toi dans la vie/Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie_  
>  It’s you for me, me for you for life/He said that to me, swore it forever
> 
>  _Et dès que je t'aperçois/Alors je sens dans moi/Mon cœur qui bat..._  
>  And when I see him/I feel in me/my heart pounding...
> 
> Quite obvious, but double entendres all around. Thus is the art of foreshadowing.
> 
> (Apologies if updates for this and _Honest Sinning_ are inconsistent; life can be quite challenging.)


	7. Chapter 7

_Do I sound like I’m out of breath? Hopefully not._

Atsumu looks conflicted to see him. He’s nervously avoiding eye contact, but at the same time, he’s smiling. “Did ya need somethin’?”

Sakusa takes his mask off entirely. “Not really. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come over?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Atsumu closes the door, unlocks the chain, and opens it again. “You have pretty good timin’, Omi-kun.” There’s a nondescript box in his hands, and a piece of fabric spilling out of his pocket. He looks more relaxed now.

As they walk the short distance down the hall to his apartment, Sakusa not-so-subtly eyes the box. “What’s in there?”

“It’s a surprise for you!”

“For me?” Sakusa laughs and unlocks his apartment door. “A good surprise, or a bad surprise?”

Atsumu is nearly vibrating in excitement as they step into the genkan, closing the door behind them. He still entertains Moka when she runs up to the entrance, petting her behind the ears and making kissy noises at her, but much to her displeasure, he’s more dismissive today. “Yer about to find out!” 

And then Sakusa’s vision goes dark. “What—?” _Oh. That piece of fabric from before, probably an old hachimaki._ Atsumu loosely ties it around his head. “How ominous.”

Atsumu playfully shushes him as he flits around. “Um, can you take off yer jacket?”

Confused but willing, Sakusa unbuttons and shucks off his winter coat, hanging it on the wall. Even without his vision, he’s memorized where the hook is just with muscle memory. He crosses his arms, a little colder without an extra layer.

Sakusa’s senses are dull, but he can clearly hear Atsumu open the box. He waits, slightly anxious, for _‘a surprise’._ Is it a prank? An airhorn, maybe? He hopes not, Moka wouldn’t be happy at all. Maybe some pastries? Honestly, no matter what it is, it makes him feel… some sort of way that Atsumu thought of him at all. Maybe it’s— 

Warm.

Sakusa’s neck feels warm.

Atsumu has wrapped something around his neck. And he’s wrapping it around again…?

“Okay, ready!” Satisfied, Atsumu pulls up the blindfold for him and Sakusa blinks.

On instinct, his hands reach up to touch it. _Oh._ A knit scarf, charcoal gray and beautifully ribbed. It’s got a nice weight to it and it’s _soft_ too. And if he isn’t mistaken… “Atsumu, is this wool?”

Atsumu nods eagerly. “Pure merino!”

Shocked, Sakusa goes to unwrap it. “Oh Atsumu, this must have been so expensive, I can’t possibly take it. This is too kind of you—”

“Do ya not like it?”

  
Sakusa freezes in place. Atsumu’s voice sounds… hurt. “I-I like it a lot; I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because honestly, I adore it.” He slowly wraps it back around.

Atsumu kicks his foot back and forth against the floor. His socks are mismatched today, yellow on the left and baby blue on the right. “I knit it myself, for you.”

Sakusa feels, honest to God, as if his brain has short-circuited.

“You… made this yourself?” The words feel heavy on his tongue.

“Got a lot of free time on my hands. And you’ve been so kind, I wanted to pay ya back somehow.”

“Atsumu, you don’t need to pay me back. I’ve done those things because I want to be your friend, not because I want you to feel indebted.”

Atsumu shrugs. “Well, okay. Maybe I just wanted to make a gift fer my friend. How’s that sound?” And with a soft grin, he steps closer, going on his tip-toes to readjust the scarf to his liking.

Every time Atsumu’s fingers brush against his neck, Sakusa resists a full-body shudder.

This kindness is indescribable.

His parents have bought him expensive clothing in the past, passing by luxury department stores with window displays ‘worthy of the Sakusa family name’, but the gifts they give have always been cold. An afterthought.

_This_ is a love of labor, physical proof that he cares for Sakusa.

Sakusa bows his head. “Thank you, Atsumu.”

Atsumu sinks back onto his heels, arms now casually resting on Sakusa’s shoulders. The weight feels at home around him. Moka, having gotten bored with the lack of attention, has disappeared, and for once Sakusa is grateful.

Their faces are close, body heat shared. Atsumu looks into his eyes as if he’s searching for an answer. If they leaned a little closer, they’d be nose to nose.

(Sakusa’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest and he can’t figure out if it’s because they’re too close, or not close enough.)

Atsumu laughs, a little breathless, and he looks down. “Kiyoomi, I—”

He’s cut off by the piercing sound of a ringing phone. The moment is gone.

It’s not Sakusa’s, if the low-fidelity ringtone is anything to go by. The two separate, Sakusa taking a confused step back and Atsumu jerking away as if pushed back with force. Atsumu slaps a hand over his mouth as if he said something wrong, eyes wide with fright. 

Sakusa holds his hands out placatingly. “Is there something wrong?” he asks, unable to shake off the dread in his voice.

Atsumu takes a deep breath and takes away his hand, refusing to look directly at him. “Y-yeah, I just. I have to—”

He pulls out a phone and Sakusa almost double-takes. Now _that_ is an old phone. Komori makes fun of him for never replacing his iphone 5 when he has the money to replace it, but all Atsumu has is a beat-up old flip-phone. Literally. It’s covered in scratches and nicks, visibly dented, with faded bits of paper attached to it that seem to be the remains of cheap stickers. 

Atsumu takes a deep breath and flips it open.

_Ohta Takaaki_

_Oh._

Atsumu looks even more scared. Hurriedly, he pulls off his shoes. “I have ta take this.” He pushes past Sakusa to his bathroom, locking himself in. The sound is muffled, but Sakusa can still hear him when he asks a tentative, “Taka? Hello? N-no, I’m not at the apartment right now, do you need me to—I’m just taking a walk…”

_Taking a walk? Why does he feel the need to lie? Would Ohta get mad at him for knowing me?_ Sakusa can tell that he’s scowling already. Probably had been since he saw that name on the screen. Just at the thought of that _man—_ no, that _asshole._ Why does Atsumu feel the need to answer his beck and call? Fulfill his whims and fancies? 

_It’s not his fault, he was probably conditioned. Remember the knife incident?_

Sakusa crouches onto the ground, his head in between his knees. He feels like he’s going to be sick. He can’t think about this anymore. He’ll start to see red and then he’ll be irrationally angry and then he might take it out on Atsumu and he can’t—he can’t hurt him. He just can’t. He stands up and tries to ground himself.

At a bit of a loss, Sakusa runs his fingers along the knit of the scarf. _Earlier…did that really just happen?_ Sakusa holds his hand over his chest. _Did I just imagine that? Is this some strange sign from the universe? Why is my heart still in a frenzy when he didn’t do anything in the first place?_ Sakusa groans and rubs his temples. _Why did Ohta have to interrupt?_

Mentally, he smacks himself. _I need to get over myself._

Gingerly, he unravels the scarf from around his neck and folds it into even thirds, putting it into his coat closet with unnecessary care. Deciding to make tea for present company, he starts heading to the kitchen, unintentionally slowing down as he passes by the bathroom door.

“Yes, I know—no, I’m n-not tryin’ to make fun of you or anything, it’s just something I’ve always done, I’m just sayin’ you don’t need to remind me—I’m sorry. Yeah. I s-shouldn’t have said anything, I won’t say it again.”

Atsumu sounds _nervous_ and _rambly_ in that way he only does when he’s incredibly uncomfortable. He can faintly hear the shouting of an unfamiliar voice over the speaker of the phone, even through the walls. He wants to step in, force that door open and hang up on the abusive bastard himself, but it’s not his place. He sighs and charges forward, busying himself with the tea leaves. He didn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop, he just can’t help it.

A few minutes later, after the tea has steeped and finally started to cool, Atsumu opens the door to his bathroom with shaking hands. He just stands there, not moving, bangs concealing his eyes.

Sakusa looks over, concerned, slowly approaching him. “Are you alright? What was that call about?”

“I need to go,” Atsumu forcefully says. “I’m sorry,” he says, now softer. “I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t right.” 

“What isn’t right?” Sakusa asks, _hurt._ That hurt quickly transforms into skepticism. “Did _he_ say something—”

Atsumu’s voice is frantic. “It’s not—you, I just can’t…” Running his hands through his hair, Atsumu clenches his jaw. “Ohta’s coming back home to the apartment tonight, I _guess,_ and it has to be _spotless,_ ya see, I don’t have time to, to—see you right now,” Atsumu trails off, still not looking at him.

_What?_

“He’s coming back tonight… and you don’t have time?” Sakusa has a slowly mounting suspicion that he doesn’t want to have confirmed. “You have the whole day, can you not sit for a bit? Drink some tea with a friend? Your apartment’s hardly a pigsty.” He’s openly worried now. “I just don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t,” Atsumu snaps.

Without another word, Atsumu turns and walks to the genkan, aggressively shoving on his shoes.

_Stop him,_ some part of Sakusa is screaming. _You_ **_can’t_ ** _let this happen,_ **_no,_ ** _why are you letting him do this to himself,_ **_stop him!_ **

And then Atsumu is out the door. He doesn’t even take a moment to pet Moka, who mysteriously reappears now that he’s moving around. She continues to meow even after he shuts the door.

Sakusa stands there, speechless. Not processing his words whatsoever.

Robotically, he turns back to his kitchen and picks up a cup of tea—Atsumu’s cup—and pours it into the sink. Looks like he’ll drink his genmaicha by himself.

_The man who cries himself to sleep at night._

_"I haven’t talked to anyone in so long.”_

_The thud of a body hitting the floor with a harsh cry._

_“...Taka doesn’t want me to get a job. Says he can handle everythin’.”_

_So fast Sakusa almost misses it, he looks at the knife, still on the cutting board._

_“...Ohta only calls me Miya when he’s upset with me.”_

_His heart aches when muffled sobs make their way to his ears._

**_“Ohta’s coming back home to the apartment tonight.”_ **

Sakusa drops the cup into his sink and it shatters.

—

_I’m playing with fire, aren’t I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just noticed that this fic hit 10k words. A milestone.
> 
> _Ohta will be making his reappearance next chapter._


End file.
